


Lucky

by Anomaliam



Category: Primeval
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spoilers for s03e08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anomaliam/pseuds/Anomaliam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The first chance Danny gets after he's done having his neck patched up by the medics, he goes looking for Becker."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first chance Danny gets after he's done having his neck patched up by the medics, he goes looking for Becker.

Besides the odd requisite glance to be sure he still had all his parts, he hadn't gotten to check in on him after they got back through the anomaly. He hasn't since, either. Which, in hindsight, hardly seems fair. Connor and Abby had time to snog each other silly on the staircase, and Lester couldn't even hold off long enough for Danny and his soldier boy to have words. He suspects the man knows about the two of them. Honestly, he'd have to be half blind not to; Danny's not so big on keeping business and pleasure separate. Probably pretends not to for the sake of deniability.

Still. Bit of a prick thing to do. Especially considering not long ago, Danny thought Becker was dead.

He's got time now, though, and with his neck bandaged and Wilder and that bitch Johnson squarely out of sight and out of mind, he plans to capitalize.

Luckily, Becker's not a hard man to find. At least not by someone who knows where to look. And more than anyone else, he thinks, when it comes to his soldier boy, Danny Quinn knows where to look.

He finds him in the armoury. No surprise there. What is a surprise is that he's still wearing the same compression shirt and fatigues from their little holiday in the future. He's got his back to Danny and looks to be putting his guns away.

Danny knows from experience that sneaking up on Becker is never a good idea. And while he still does it sometimes (he lives dangerously), this isn't going to be one of those times. He can tell by the set of Becker's shoulders that he's not quite come off the adrenaline. He's still on edge. Danny doesn't blame him, of course; he's still a bit tense himself.

He manages a smile anyway. "It's a good thing I know how much you fancy me," he says. "Otherwise I might be jealous of you taking care of your guns before you so much as pop in on me." It's fair warning. He knows Becker hears him, even though he doesn't look up. Becker always focuses when he does this, and heaven help the dumb sod that tries to distract him.

Danny, as acting Dumb Sod, fully intends to do just that.

He closes the distance to the table in a few quick strides, turning on his heal and landing in a casual lean back against the edge of the table right next to him. "I'm fine, in case you were wondering."

"Let me guess: had worse shaving?"

"Took the words right out of my mouth."

"I'm sure there's plenty more where that came from."

Danny smiles that much wider, only to wince when Becker starts to open the case for the Mossberg and can't seem to get his left arm up and out enough to do it. He made the mistake of giving him a good kick in the shoulder when they got back, not expecting him to groan and curl in on himself like he did. He thought it was just a scratch; clearly, he was wrong. Becker's still not using the arm properly.

He takes some pity on him, reaching over to undo the latch nearest him and help him open it up. "Good thing you're a righty, aye?"

"I'm fine." And stubborn as always, it seems like.

Danny expected nothing less. "How about you let me be the judge of that, Hils." He gives him a second, but he doesn't get so much of a rise out of him. "Not even a pout? Now I know you feel like shite."

Becker did frown at that. "I don't  _pout_." He punctuated the statement by checking the action on the newly-cleaned and assembled Mossberg.

"For what it's worth, I think it's sexy."

"I don't pout," Becker repeats. He puts the gun up, and starts to reach up to close the lid, but his arm appears to catch again, and even the stoic soldier can't hide his flinch.

"Definitely gonna have to have a look at that shoulder," Danny tells him. He reaches up and bumps the lid closed, and instead of letting Becker have a go at the latches, he grabs the handle, drags the case closer to him and out from in front of Becker, and shuts them himself. "Guessing you haven't made it down to the infirmary?"

It's not really a guess anymore. Becker's never said as much, but Danny's getting the sneaking suspicion he has an aversion to medical facilities and related personnel.

"I saw a medic on-site."

"You stood there long enough for the bloke to pick glass out of your back; it's not the same thing." He saw that much, before he had to go.

The corner of Becker's lips actually curled a little in a half-smile, and he gave a one-sided shrug. It's that almost mischievous look he gets sometimes. Makes Danny feel a bit better. "It counts."

Not that much better.

"Not quite. Top marks for effort, but you're coming home with me. Now."

Becker shakes his head. "I've got work to do."

"Cleaning your guns?"

"Well, they won't clean themselves," he says with the air of someone that's suffered Danny's shite far too long. He's only twenty-seven. He shouldn't be able to look so bloody put out. It's not right.

Still, Danny chuckles. "Cheeky. I like it." But then his smile falls a bit. "Speaking of cheeks." He reaches out to catch Becker's chin. Becker tries to pull his head back, but Danny just stands up straight and moves in closer until he's got a better angle on him. "Easy, soldier boy. Just having a look at you." While he's at it, he turns them around, backing Becker into the table and all but trapping him there.

It's not generally a wise thing, to corner Becker, but it's really the only way he's going to get him to hold still. Besides, if he didn't want Danny to do it, he could have stopped him. But instead, he goes with it, albeit with an exasperated roll of his eyes and a bit of foot-dragging. It's as much of an all clear as he's going to get, he expects.

He takes it, turning his attention to the big, nasty scuff on his cheekbone. It's starting to swell, and there's some colour blooming out around that in his temple. "You go a few rounds with one of the predators? Figured them more for the bite and scratch type, but it looks more like you took a sharp right hook."

He goes to brush his thumb over the edge of it, but Becker flinches and hisses through his teeth.

"Right, I take it that's tender."

"You don't say," Becker grinds out through gritted teeth.

Danny shakes his head. He does sympathize, really. His neck hurts, and that's all he's got to grapple with. Becker looks like he's been put through a paper shredder and beat with a cricket bat a few times for good measure.

"Better idea, then."

"Famous last words, coming from you."

"Oi." He flicks Becker on the ear. It seems like the only part of him that isn't some form of scuffed, scratched, or bruised.

It earns him a growl and a kick to the shin, but there's no power behind it.

"As I was saying: you come with me back to mine. Shower off, and I'll see if I can't tape you back together."

"That's the same idea you had before."

There's something about the way he says it, almost plaintive, that is equal parts pitiful and, well, cute. He can't resist the urge to ruffle his hair, already out of its usual impeccable form. He's fucking adorable. And for the sake of staying alive (and not making Becker move more than is absolutely necessary), he's going to keep that to himself for the time being.

For all the good it does. Becker still swats his hand away, and ends up wincing. It's not even his left arm he moves.

"Is there a part of you that doesn't hurt?"

Becker holds up two fingers in a V.

"Well that's just not nice," Danny complains.

In response, Becker just pushes Danny back. Or tries to. Danny lets him push him a few steps, but he takes him by the upper arms and pulls him back with him. "Alright, alright," he says. "I get it. Not in the mood for teasing." He can't keep the grin off his face, but he really does sympathize. "Come on, then. Let's get you out of here, then."

And more than the scuffs, the scrapes, the sore shoulder and sorer attitude, it's the fact that Becker doesn't protest that tells Danny just how horrible he really feels. Which in turn makes Danny feel at least a little bit horrible in turn. Mostly, though, he's just determined to take care of him, make him feel slightly less horrible at least.

Whether Becker wants him to or not.

When Becker stoops to get his bag, Danny clucks his tongue and takes it first. "Hero doesn't carry his own bag," he says when Becker shoots him a look.

"I'm not a hero, Danny," Becker tells him.

Danny just shoulders his bag and captures any further protests in a kiss. When he leans back, Becker looks that typical cross between pleased and indignant he gets when Danny breaks the PDA rule. Which is a lot, if he's being perfectly honest. It's not even much of a rule at this point. And he doesn't think Becker really minds.

"No more arguing. Chop chop, soldier boy. We're moving out. Quick time. On the double."

"One more military cliché, I'll find a way to open another anomaly to the future and toss you in."

The threat doesn't hold much weight, period. But it would probably hold more if Becker wasn't sheet white and walking like his whole body was one big, tender bruise.

"You could give it the old English try."

"I'd manage."

"'Course you would. But in the meantime, you could use a shower and a kip, and that's just for starters." He steals another quick peck and starts steering Becker out the door. "Who knows?" he says as they make their way (slowly) out of the armoury. "If you're good, I'll even wash your back."

"You're all heart."

"Lucky for you, aye?"

"Right," Becker mutters dryly. "Lucky for me."


	2. Chapter 2

They take Becker's SUV. Danny's driving, because Becker just looks sodding shattered. The adrenaline's wearing off; Danny can tell. His is, too, but then he didn't play Rambo, running off to battle hordes of future beasties all by his lonesome.

He didn't get the tar beat out of him, either. There's also that.

"Here we are, sunshine," Danny says as they pull into his driveway. He's got a small house just outside town, and he figures the three steps up the porch are a hell of a lot better than trying to get Becker up the six flights of stairs to his flat. Becker keeps telling him they're working on fixing the lift, but he's been saying that since he first started going over to his place months ago.

It doesn't matter. Tonight, it's his house, his rules, and Becker's just going to have to deal with it.

Apparently albeit as begrudgingly as possible. "I'm fine," he says as Danny comes around to his side. He's got his door open, but he's moving slow getting out. "I can manage."

"I know you can." But he slips an arm around Becker's waist anyhow.

Becker doesn't argue.

"Shower first?"

Becker nods. "Shower first." And then he slips away from Danny to go down the hall where Danny's bedroom is. The only full bath in the house is the one off Danny's bedroom, and Becker's been here enough times to know where it is.

Danny lets him. "Lose the kit; I'll get you something clean." Clean, comfortable, and light enough that it'll let his wounds air out. He's done this before, more than he cares to think about. It's not always this way around. Sometimes, Becker's the one bossing him around. Granted, Danny likes to think he's a bit sweeter about it. Becker's very...straightforward. Gentle, but he goes about tending wounds like he does any other mission: efficiently and with extreme prejudice. It's only after when he gets all sweet and doting.

Danny's more about the process.

"Don't get started without me," he calls. Becker doesn't answer, but Danny doesn't mind. Becker's not the most talkative bloke on the best of days, and this is not the best of days.

It could be worse, though. And that doesn't bear thinking about.

He follows Becker into his bedroom. Becker's already gone through the door to the toilet, and he's left it ajar. Privacy doesn't mean much when you've seen every inch of each other, and Danny's done much more than look.

As Becker goes about un-strapping his various holsters and other tactical gear he wears, Danny rounds up a pair of loose cotton trousers and some fresh briefs. Becker's bunked over enough times that he's left a few changes of clothes in a drawer of Danny's dresser, so he doesn't have to worry about finding ones that fit right.

Which is good, because he's got plenty to worry about when he hears a thud followed quickly by a curse coming from the bathroom. He half-sprints around the bed to get into the bathroom, and frowns when he sees Becker leaning back against the sink counter holding his arm like it's about to fall off. His shirt's hiked up around his middle, and Danny puts the pieces together in his head. Probably trying to get his shirt off and hurt his shoulder.

He winces in sympathy. Becker really looks like he's hurting, and his skin's gone sheet white, lips pursed tight and nose flared.

"You alright?" he asks, dropping the clothes over the back of the toilet and moving to stand in front of Becker.

Becker nods stiffly. "Fine."

"Liar."

Instead of an answer, Becker just pushes off the counter. He starts to try pulling his shirt off again, and while normally Danny's not one to stop something like that, he thinks this time he can sacrifice his own viewing pleasure for the greater good. Specifically, Becker's good.

"Alright, alright," he tells him. "Stop there, aye?" He catches Becker's hands in his own and holds them still.

Becker looks up, eyebrow arched. "I'm not showering dressed."

"And you're not getting that shirt off the regular way, either. So just let me... ." He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pocket knife, flipping out the blade. "Let me help, aye?"

"You're not cutting my shirt."

"Yeah? Because I think I'm not watching you hurt yourself for the sake of a few scraps of cloth that're already ripped to shreds anyhow. So hold still, soldier boy. Wouldn't want to nick you."

A scowl twists Becker's face, but he wisely holds still while Danny takes the knife to his compression shirt. It's easier this way, Danny thinks. Not easy, though. The blood's dried in places, holding the shirt to his skin so that it has to be peeled off.

"Sorry about this, mate." He is. He really, really is, for so many reasons. Because it's not just about how much this has to hurt now, the bloody fabric pulling at his tender wounds, but what it must've been like back in the future. He was alone, fighting off a shite load of future beasties trying to have him for dinner. He was beat up, scratched, bitten, put through  _hell_ , and he hadn't even thought they should be there in the first place. They hadn't listened to him and gone for reinforcements, and he nearly died because of it.

"It's fine," Becker says through clenched teeth. He's got a vice grip on the counter, and he's breathing slow and deep to control the pain. Somehow, Danny doesn't think it can work all that well.

Finally, though, Danny gets the shirt off. He tosses the scraps in the rubbish bin, then turns back to really assess the damage.

It feels like he's been punched in the gut.

Becker's whole body is a mess. His left side is a splotch of reds and blues that'll probably include some green and yellow come morning, especially around his shoulder and his ribs. Nothing looks broken, but his shoulder's definitely swollen (Danny feels really guilty about that little kick he gave him when they got back through the anomaly, now).

He does a quick tally of the injuries he can see on his front, and he just feels worse as he goes. There's a cut under Becker's left arm that stretches across his ribs onto the front of his chest. There's one on his right side, too, along his collarbone. It's swollen around the edges, like a cat scratch, only deeper. Much deeper. His cheek's the same as it has been, but in the context of his other wounds, it somehow looks worse.

It's his back, though, that's the worst. Danny can see it in the mirror. He doesn't know what happened yet (he plans to find out), but it looks like he went through a pane of glass or something back-first. He can see where the medic was picking shards out, and thinks he might see the light catch where the bastard forgot some.

This isn't going to be a fun night. For either of them.

"Turn 'round," he tells him as he stoops down next to him to pull the first aid kit from beneath the sink. It's more of a toolbox than anything. He's always kept a pretty well-stocked kit, full of different types of bandages and wraps. He's even got the stuff for stitches, though he hasn't decided yet if it's better he uses them or just some butterfly bandages on those cuts.

Becker looks at him like he's crazy.

"I need to have a look at your back, make sure the medic didn't miss any bits."

"I can manage." There's something in Becker's eyes as he says it that gives Danny pause.

Just not pause enough to keep him from saying, "Yeah? You can pick glass shards out of your own back? Bloody hell, I knew you were flexible, Hils, but—"

"Finish that sentence," Becker interrupts. "I dare you." He's not joking, either. Something's put him in a mood, Danny realizes. Or else he's been in a mood the whole time, and Danny just hasn't noticed, which doesn't exactly bode well for his powers of observation. He's usually the first to sense when there's something amuck, especially with Becker.

He's losing his edge.

Edge or no edge, he doesn't like the sound of it, nor does he like the hard expression Becker's wearing. He's definitely not happy about something, and whether that's the collage of cuts and scrapes he's got or something else, Danny doesn't really know. But he intends to find out.

"Alright, what's eating you, soldier boy?" In light of the day's events, maybe not the best choice of words. But Danny's always been one for making light of dark times. It's how he manages to stay so damn cheery.

Becker could stand to learn a thing or two about that, Danny thinks. He just looks at Danny, half like he can't believe Danny just asked that question, and half like he'd like to punch him for it. Given the shape of his shoulder, though, Danny's liking his odds.

Then again, Becker didn't get all his medals and accolades being a nancy boy. He's tough in a way his you wouldn't think of to look at him.

"So, we're not talking now? Is that it?"

"Why bother?" Becker shoots back pointedly.

"Oi, what's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think?"

The fact that Danny can't seem to think of the answer immediately only seems to frustrate Becker further, enough that he starts to push Danny away and walk out. Starts to, being the operative phrase, because he doesn't really make it very far. Danny takes a few steps back when Becker pushes him, more because it was unexpected than that it was really that hard of a shove, but before Becker can make it out of the room, he's grabbing him by the good arm (or, really, the less bad one) and tugging him back inside.

He tries to be gentle. Really he does. But when Becker gets it in that head of his that he wants to go somewhere, there isn't much someone can do gently to keep him from doing it. As it is, he pulls him back, shuts the door, and ends up essentially pinning him to the door.

He's not expecting Becker to actually fight back. Struggle a bit, maybe. But when Danny finds himself twisted 'round by the arm he'd just been using to hold Becker back against the door, he realizes he might not've been giving this situation the caution it deserved. He might not've been giving Becker the caution he deserves, either. He's a trained soldier. And when he's mad, it's probably for good cause; he shouldn't have just brushed him off like that.

"Alright, alright, you've made your point," he says. Becker doesn't let up even a little bit, though. He's got his arm behind his back, and he can hear Becker breathing heavily in his ear. He's pressed right up close behind him, and Danny knows if he just throws his weight back, he can mash Becker pretty hard against the door.

He doesn't.

Even if there aren't any glass shards left in Becker's back, it still won't help the cuts and gashes there any to be beat up anymore, and knowing Becker, it'll just rile him up more. He's hoping he can get out of this without anyone getting hurt. Especially Becker.

Maybe it's time to try a different approach.

"Becker." His tone is serious, now. Firm and authoritative. It's the kind of thing he knows Becker responds to, almost instinctively. And he's right. He feels Becker tense behind him, his grip faltering a bit on Danny's wrist. Danny doesn't move just yet, though, lest he disturb the temporary detente. "Let go of my wrist."

It's not a request; it's an order. They both know Becker's only got the illusion of control, here. He's hurt, and he's exhausted. They both are, really, but Becker's got the lion's share, the poor bastard. If Danny really tried to get free, he could do it, and if they had a row, Danny would probably be the winner, if only because Becker's been trained to kill and Danny's been trained to subdue, which makes his the more relevant skill set in this situation.

He can hear Becker swallow. He doesn't let go immediately, but Danny can wait. He does wait, and sure enough, after a long moment, the pressure on his wrist goes slack and he can see Becker in the mirror, taking a step back.

When he turns around, Becker looks ... Christ, Danny doesn't even know. He looks equal parts apologetic and angry. He looks cornered. His bare chest is heaving, and Danny watches the one over his collarbone pucker and stretch a bit as it does.

Becker doesn't flinch, when he goes to hook a hand around his neck, but Danny knows that's just sheer force of will. He stands straighter as Danny's fingers brush the short hairs at the base of his skull.

"What's all this about, then?" Danny asks.

Becker's lips press into a tighter line.

Danny adds pressure on the back of Becker's neck. It's not enough to hurt, just enough to get his attention. "C'mon, Hils. I can't apologize if I didn't know what I did."

"You won't apologize, anyway."

Not exactly a great start, but Danny'll take it.

"Let me be the judge of that, aye? Just tell me what's got you so cross with me?"

There's a moment of hesitation, but then, "You didn't listen." Three words, but there's a weight to them that even Danny's having trouble grasping.

"That's nothing new, is it?"

Wrong answer.

Becker knocks his hand away, brows furrowing. "This isn't a fucking joke, Danny. You knew we shouldn't have gone in without reinforcements, but you did it anyway. I told you it wasn't safe, that someone was going to get hurt, that we all could've been killed—"

"That's why you're angry? Because you got hurt?" It's not that he doesn't have any right to be; it's just that it isn't like Becker.

With a frustrated huff, Becker runs a hand through his hair, freeing a puff of dirt and sand. He doesn't even seem to notice. "No!" he snaps. "That's not—that's not it."

"Then what is?"

"I don't know what the fucking point of me is!" Becker's shout echoes in the small room like a clap of thunder. His face is flushed red. He's angry; that much is obvious. But there's something else to it, beneath the anger.

Hurt. He's hurt.

It's enough to make Danny bite back any jokes about the soldier boy losing his composure in favour of something more serious. "What do you mean, what the point of you is?"

Another frustrated sigh. Danny gets the feeling that if he wasn't blocking him in, Becker would be pacing. He's normally so composed. He doesn't get restless like the rest of them do. But clearly, that composure's all but gone, now, and in its wake is just a tired, sore, profoundly upset twenty-seven-year-old.

Christ, but it's easy to forget how young he is sometimes.

"I'm supposed to protect you. It's my job to keep you and the team out of danger. But I can't do that if you blatantly disregard everything I say. I know what I'm talking about, Danny. It's why Lester brought me on in the first place." A dark look passes through his hazel eyes.

Danny recognizes the look. He's not sure where Becker goes when he gets that look, but he thinks its someplace horrible. It's easy to forget what Becker was, before he became Head of Security at the ARC. Special Forces, and to have risen to Captain so quickly, he must have done incredible things.

Terrible, incredible things.

He knows more about it than most, he thinks. Becker lets things slip sometimes, after a few too many drinks or a particularly rough night where he wakes up sweating and panting and pale as a ghost.

No. There's no doubt in Danny's mind that Becker does know what he's talking about. Of the lot of them, he was probably the most qualified to call the shots in the wasteland that was the future.

However, "We couldn't just leave Abby's brother there, Becker."

"I'm not saying we should have. I never said we should've." The hurt bleeds through a little more.

And then it clicks. Becker's not just upset that they didn't listen to him. He's upset that they didn't trust him.

"I would have gotten him out," Becker says. His tone is softer, now. More subdued. But it's firm. He really believes what he's saying. Danny might not believe what he's saying (there's no way of knowing whether the reinforcements would've gotten there in time or not), but he believes that Becker believes it, and that's enough for him.

He sighs this time. "There was no way of knowing that, then," Danny tells him. He's trying to be delicate, but that's never really been his strong suit. "The anomaly could've closed, there could've been an incursion ... we had to act."

"You all could've been killed."

"Don't you think I know that?" Danny frowns, bringing a hand up to rest gingerly on Becker's chest. There's hardly a part of him that isn't bruised or scratched, and it hurts Danny just to look at it. "When I got out with Jack and I didn't see you ... I just about lost my mind. When they told me what you'd done—Christ, Hils, for a minute there, I was about to kill that little prat myself."

He doesn't think he's imagining the slight upturn of Becker's lips at that. Funny how Becker always seems to find him funniest when he isn't joking.

He takes a breath. "But then you popped out of that car like a real live Jack in the Box, shotgun blazing. Saved all our arses again. And we all made it out."

"We were lucky."

"We were." Danny smiles, moving his hand up Becker's chest to curl once again around his neck. This time, though, he doesn't just hold it there. He uses it to pull Becker in, tipping his head up for a kiss. It's long and slow and tender, not like their usual, but to a man that thought he'd never again have the chance, it's perfect.

Maybe he should've listened. Maybe they should've waited for reinforcements. Maybe a bad judgment call nearly lost him the man he loves.

But it didn't. Becker's here, more or less in one piece, and Abby didn't have to learn what it's like to lose a brother. So maybe they did get lucky.

Sometimes, though, it's better to be lucky than good.


	3. Chapter 3

"You know, I normally quite like you in this position."

Becker raises his head enough to glare at Danny in the mirror. He's sort of bent over the sink, hands braced on the edge of the counter, gripping it like it's his precious Mossberg in the middle of the zombie apocalypse. Behind him, Danny's standing holding a pair of tweezers in on hand, and Becker's hips in the other.

"You think you're funny," Becker says through clenched teeth.

"'Course I do. I think I'm hilarious, Hils." He grunts as the back of Becker's bare foot comes down on his equally bare toes. Clearly, Becker doesn't appreciate his pithy play on words. Granted, he doesn't expect Becker's in a position to appreciate much of anything that's not Danny stopping taking tweezers to the cuts on his back. "Right bang up job that medic did," he mutters under his breath.

He thinks he's got the last one, though, and as he drops the tiny shard of glass onto the roll of bloody gauze he's planning to bin in a minute, he gives Becker's hip a few pats.

"Think that's the last of it," he says, and Becker starts to straighten, but Danny catches him. "Come up slow." He's been standing there the better part of fifteen minutes. "Wouldn't want you getting the vapours on us, now."

Becker actually turns his head at that. "'Getting the vapors?'" he says incredulously.

Danny just shrugs and starts undressing.

"What are you doing?"

"I'd have thought that'd be obvious. You've seen it enough times."

"That's not what I meant." He's trying to sound irritated, Danny thinks, but it just comes out sounding tired. He needs sleep, and the sooner he can get showered and Danny can get him patched up, the happier he thinks they'll both be in the end.

Which is why he doesn't drag it out. "I'm getting in the shower with you, obviously."

Becker's brows furrow. "You can't."

"Bit late to play the blushing virgin, isn't it?"

The jab earns him, well, a jab.

"You're so violent."

"It's your fault; you bring it out in me."

Danny starts to protest, but then just shrugs again. "That's fair. But in the spirit of not having to drag you to casualty if you fall and knock your head on something, just humour me, yeah? Promise your virtue's safe with me."

"What about your neck?" Becker asks, nodding his head towards the bandage on Danny's neck.

Danny waves him off. "Oh, this little old thing? Don't even think on it."

"Danny." Funny, how Becker can say so much just by saying his name.

He rolls his eyes a bit. "It's nothing, Hils. Look." Carefully, he reaches up and starts peeling the plaster off. He winces a bit, but just because the adhesive pulls at the fine hair on his neck, but the wound itself isn't even that tender anymore. It's more of a graze than a bite; the creature couldn't quite manage to get its teeth in him, so it had just scraped two lines into his skin.

The way Becker looks at it, you'd think it was a mortal wound.

"What did the medics say?"

"Not much. Strangely, they aren't all that talkative." At Becker's frown, though, he relents and adds, "They said it would heal. No stitches necessary, and so long as I keep it clean, shouldn't do much more than leave behind a lovely scar. Which is fine by me, really. Think it makes me look rugged, don't you?"

"Right. Rugged." But Becker's got a hint of a smile in his eyes, and that's good enough for Danny. "And you're sure you're allowed to get it wet?"

"There are so many ways I could answer that question."

"Choose wisely."

Wisely, indeed. Danny opts not to say anything at all, and instead tugs his shirt off over his head and drops it in a pile on the floor. He can practically feel Becker's OCD kick in when he does. "Easy, soldier boy. I'll bin it later. Yours, too." His especially, actually. Even his trousers look like they're not going to survive the experience. They're filthy and torn on the inseam of his right leg. "Now, if you're done admiring the view, you think maybe we could actually get in the shower?"

It's not really a question, as evidenced by the fact that Danny drops trou when he's done and then closes in on Becker to do the same for him. He unfastens his trousers, stealing a kiss as he does. Even tired as he is, he feels a part of him stir that really ought not to, but he doesn't pay him any mind. This isn't about sex. There's plenty of time for that, when they're both slightly closer to alive. For now, he just wants to make Becker feel better. And maybe, in a way, he wants to make himself feel better about Becker. It's still too fresh, that moment when he thought Becker was dead. The pain of that loss, the guilt of it. He needs to prove to himself that Becker's hear, that even if he's scuffed up and worse for wear, he's here.

"I'm not an invalid," Becker protests mildly as Danny steers him towards the shower with hands on his hips.

Danny just smiles and reaches past him to turn on the water. Hot, but not too hot. It's going to sting enough as it is; best adjust to it gradually. "I know you aren't. Now, in." He gives Becker's bare arse a light slap that earns him a glare that's just a little too sleepy to be intimidating. He's winding down again, it seems like. Now that he's had it out and used up the last of his reserves, his body's telling him it's time to rest, now.

Well, maybe not just now.

Becker hisses as he steps under the spray. Exposed nerves and raw skin don't mix well with hot water at first, as Danny can attest. His neck stings like hell when the water hits it, but after a minute, the sting dies down to a dull burn. He thinks Becker's do the same, because after a moment, he starts to relax under the spray.

He lets Becker have at his front with the cloth, wiping away the grit and grime while Danny does the same, albeit a bit quicker. He's not as tender as Becker is right at the moment.

When Becker starts to try to get his back, though, Danny decides that's his cue. "Let me," he says, taking the cloth from Becker's hand. He's gentle as he can be, running the cloth along his shoulder. He knows it hurts, but he's got to get it clean, and Becker's smart enough not to make him chase him around the tub.

Actually, he does one better. As Danny moves the cloth down his arms, wiping away the last traces of dirt and sand from the future, he starts to notice Becker listing back. He's still upright, but he's leaning, and there's a sag to his normally-rigid posture that Danny identifies easily.

He smiles.

"Hey, Hils, turn 'round," he says softly. Becker's starting to doze off, is what's happening, and he knows he's prone to starting when he's in that halfway place between sleeping and awake. The point of this exercise isn't just to get him clean, it's to get him relaxed.

As it is, Becker takes a deeper breath than usual, but he doesn't tense. He looks over his shoulder, a little confused.

Danny just makes a spinning gesture with his hand. "Trust me, aye?"

And Becker does. Fatigue makes him pliable, and as he turns around to face Danny, it's not hard to coax him in a little closer.

"Lean on me." He wants him close, but it's also practical. If Becker dozes off and starts to fall, there's not a whole hell of a lot Danny thinks he'll be able to do but slow his descent and maybe cushion his fall. At least if he's leaning on him, he's got a few points of contact to work with.

Becker doesn't argue. He lets Danny guide his head down onto his shoulder (not the one next to the predator bite), and Danny resumes cleaning.

Every so often, his breath catches, as Danny ghosts over a particularly sore cut or tender bruise, but for the most part, Becker doesn't so much as stir against Danny. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Becker is asleep standing up.

So, he might take a little longer than necessary finishing up. It's not every day he gets a fully-trained super soldier at his mercy, and maybe he's enjoying the little bit of peace and quiet. A little bit of tranquillity.

Eventually, though, he gives him a bit of a nudge. "Come on, soldier boy. Time to get dry."

It's a bit of a struggle, getting Becker out. He's limping heavier now, probably thanks to the wound on the inside of his thigh. It looks like a graze from something, not quite like the ones on Danny's neck, but not entirely dissimilar. It looks like it hurts, at any rate, and Danny guides him to sit on the toilet while he gets dried off and dressed himself. He replaces the plaster on his neck quick enough, then turns back to Becker.

"Still with me, soldier boy?" His eyes are open, but only just. Danny thinks it's only by sheer force of will that he's not slumped back against the tank, having a kip.

He nods.

"Alright. You want to do this here, then, or on the bed?"

"I don't care."

In the end, Danny takes care of him right there, rather than moving him. That way, he figures just as soon as he's settled in bed, he can nod off, and Danny won't have to disturb him.

It takes a while. He ends up stitching the wound on his shoulder. "Don't look at it," he tells him as he pulls the string through his skin. He doesn't even want to look at it. It's not that he's squeamish, but he can tell by the death grip Becker's got on the front of his shirt that he's not enjoying himself. "Just keep breathing."

The rest, he thinks he can get away with butterfly stitches or gauze pads. The plasters hold the skin together where it needs to be, and the gauze over antiseptic cream keeps the scuffs from drying out prematurely.

"Take a deep breath and let it out," he instructs as he wraps his chest. He takes it up onto his shoulder, as well, wrapping it tight enough for compression, but not tight enough that it infringes on his breathing or his blood circulation. It's not done swelling just yet, he expects. He'll keep ice on it the rest of the night, if he can.

He does the same for his leg, when Becker begrudgingly admits that it's not just the graze that's got him limping. He thinks he might've pulled something. Danny wraps it just in case, and after he's got him dressed in some loose running trousers and a button-up that he doesn't have to try to get over his head, he makes him stay off it as much as he can on the way out to the bedroom.

"Easy, now," he says as he helps him sit on the bed. "Let's get some painkillers in you, yeah?" He's already got a glass of water ready, and he shakes out a couple pills into his hand.

"I don't need them. I'm just going to sleep."

Because, of course, it's not about feeling better, it's about being practical.

Danny rolls his eyes. "And you'll sleep a lot better if you're not hurting so badly."

"It's not that bad."

"You get worse at lying when you're tired, you know."

Becker rolls his eyes, but makes no move to take the pills.

This isn't Danny's first party, though. He knows why Becker doesn't want to take them. "Hey, there's nothing you've got to worry about for the next few days, at least. Lester's sent word you're not to set foot in the ARC for the rest of the week."

"You're all overreacting."

"Says the man pulling a very uncanny impersonation of a mummy." He holds the pills closer to Becker. "Just take the damn things. It's just me, here. I won't even record it if you get a bit loopy."

Which is a very light way of addressing Becker's real fear. He's a control freak to his very core, and the thought of not having complete control of his faculties is an uncomfortable one for someone like him. He's guarded; Danny thinks there are parts of himself he's afraid of letting out.

He brushes a hand over Becker's neck. "There's no-one here to protect, Hils. So just take the damn pills and feel better."

And mercifully, that seems to do the trick, because with one last moment's hesitation, he takes the pills and knocks them back. Danny's waiting with the glass of water, which Becker drinks down to the last.

"There, that wasn't so bad was it?"

Becker just rolls his eyes and starts to lie back. He moves gingerly, but Danny doesn't try to help him. He's put up with enough of Danny's assistance the past few hours; he thinks his ego might start rebelling. Instead, he busies himself getting an ice pack from the freezer, and when he comes back, Becker's more or less settled in. He's lying on his right side (Danny expects his back is tender, and the less weight he can put on his shoulder, the better off he'll be), and his eyes are closed, and even though he's not asleep, Danny doesn't think it'll be long before he is.

"There's a good soldier boy," he says softly, smiling as he eases into the bed next to him. He's gentle, putting the ice pack to his shoulder and sliding it under some of the wrap to hold it in place. It'll thaw in a little under a half hour, so he doesn't have to worry about taking it out. Hopefully, though, it'll help with some of the pain and swelling.

Carefully, he shifts until he's right up behind Becker. He's not quite flush; he doesn't want to hurt his back. But he's close enough that he can slip an arm around his waist, and press his lips to his neck.

"Sleep tight, Hils."

Christ, but he's a lucky man.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
